


No One Knows (Except the Both of Us)

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Sibling Incest, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They used to play a lot of pranks on each other when they were little. This isn’t so much different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Knows (Except the Both of Us)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Alanis Morissette's "Hands Clean". How do you find a title for porn? Because that's all this is.
> 
> I am not a kinky writer by any means and this is my first attempt at something even remotely close to it. The lovely plot bunnies. You know how it is.  
> English isn't my first language and I wasn't sure about the tenses a lot of times. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Disclaimer: The idea is mine. Unfortunately, nothing else is.

They used to play a lot of pranks on each other when they were little. This isn’t so much different.

Or maybe it’s more like when they used to come up with punishments for each other when one of them had lost a bet or drawn the short straw during John’s training.  
For a long time Dean always came out on top which was why he had suggested the practice in the first place.

But then Sam came out of puberty, broad-shouldered and three inches taller than his older brother, and sparring with Dean became much more fun. Especially because Dean’s face is always hilarious when Sam manages to overpower him. Which isn’t really a hardship anymore and Dean uses every chance he gets to complain about that.

He isn’t complaining now, though. Or maybe he is. Sam can’t really tell because the only sounds that come out of Dean’s mouth are high whimpers and broken moans and the occasional _god, Sam, please_ which Sam studiously ignores.

He eases up on the accelerator. He is ten miles over the speed limit anyway and it’s only in his favor if the drive takes a little longer than it normally would.

“You okay over there, Dean?” He can’t keep the smugness out of his voice and even if he could he probably wouldn’t because his brother deserves this. He actually provoked it by letting himself get mauled by that trampy poker player at the bar they went to last night. Dean still insists that it was only a kiss and it wasn’t his fault but Sam thinks this is a fair punishment.

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean spits back but he is so breathless that it comes out shuddery and not at all malicious. Sam grins and focuses back on the road. The sun is beating down on them and the A/C is blasting but he turned the radio off so he can listen to the noises Dean makes when the vibrator in him rubs over his prostate every time the Impala bumps over a pothole in the road.

Sam isn’t going to tell his brother but he seeks them out on purpose. Dean will probably connect the dots when he is back in his right mind and give Sam hell for treating his car like that but Sam thinks it’s already worth it.

They have been on the road for four hours and Sam is starting to get restless. They passed a mile marker half a minute ago and Sam does some calculations in his head. If they keep their current pace, they have about one hour and a half left till they make it to Greenville, Illinois. Why are there always so many monsters in Illinois?

“Jesus!” Dean exclaims as Sam steers over another crack in the blacktop. His hand curls against the door panel. “Doesn’t this thing … ever run out of battery?” He is dripping with sweat and while the heat outside is stifling it has nothing to do with that.

Sam’s eyes linger on Dean’s wet hair, his flushed face. “Nope.” He grins. “You know research is what I do best.”

And he did his. Picked batteries that would last the time of the drive and then some.

Dean groans and drops his forehead to the dashboard before immediately bolting up again as if that position makes everything worse. He has been shifting around on the seat non-stop for the entire time they have been on the road and while that probably isn’t helping things he can’t seem to stop.

When Dean pushes a hand into the open fly of his jeans and presses his palm against his raging erection to take some of the pressure off, hissing at the overstimulation, Sam feels a little pang of sympathy. Not enough, though, to free Dean of the cock ring that strategically keeps him from coming.

“Sam, _please_!” Dean whines, his hands fisted in the denim over his thighs, knuckles almost white. His voice sounds so wrecked that Sam’s own pants start to grow tight again despite the two orgasms he already had today.

One right before they hit the road this morning, Dean jerking him off on the motel bed. Sam reveled in the way Dean looked at him with that hint of betrayal in his eyes after Sam had opened him up and pushed the vibrator into him until it wouldn’t go any further only to then put the ring around Dean’s dick and order him to get dressed.

One not quite two hours ago when Dean had him hard and aching with all his bit-off moans and filthy curses and his hands constantly somewhere on Sam’s body, his arm or his thigh, sometimes his hip. He wasn’t willing to let Dean off the hook but he also was selfish and didn’t plan on driving hundreds of miles with a hard-on. So he made Dean suck him off and to his surprise Dean was only too eager to do so and didn’t even make the snappy comment Sam was ready for.  
If Sam had known that this is all it takes to shut Dean up, he would have come up with the idea much sooner.

During the first one and a half hours in the car Dean tried to find different positions on the seat, pulled his legs under himself to escape the sweet torture of the vibrator in his ass and the pressure it kept on his prostate but soon his knees started hurting and it wasn’t much good anyway because his jeans were much too tight for him to get much relief.

Sam watched him with amusement out of the corner of his eye until Dean seemed to throw in the towel and slumped down in the cushions, head against the passenger window, quick breaths fogging up the glass.

Around the two hour mark, Dean’s swearing died down and tilted over into quiet whimpers and occasional pleas for Sam to “please, god, do something.”

They picked up a hitch hiker along the way. Tall pretty brunette riding with them for three quarters of an hour whom Dean would have been flirting with shamelessly under normal circumstances. Her eyes flickered between them warily, from Dean’s sweat-soaked forehead to Sam’s barely controlled smirk, and when she asked if Dean was okay Sam had to fake a cough and assure her that his brother wasn’t feeling very well but that he would be fine. She never stopped frowning.

When the sounds Dean uttered changed to actual sobs, Sam momentarily considered stopping this. He wasn’t even mad anymore, if he ever had been to begin with. A little jealous, sure, maybe somewhat possessive.  
But then he remembered that Dean was too flirty for his own good and that some punishment had been long overdue anyway.

And Dean is so much fun like this. Maybe it is mean but Sam has always enjoyed having the upper hand over his brother. It doesn’t happen all that often and he relishes it whenever he can.

Dean’s sweaty fingers find his on the steering wheel and pry them away. “Touch me, Sam, please,” he whispers, voice too hoarse to do much else.

Sam smiles. “Come here.”

Maybe Dean has been waiting for something like permission because he practically pounces on Sam, scooting along the bench, plastering his hands to Sam’s stomach over his T-shirt.  
Sam draws in a sharp breath. Dean reeks of desperate sweat and arousal and Sam’s cock decides to rejoin the party, urgently pressing against the inside of his fly.

Dean ducks under his right arm and attaches himself to Sam’s neck, dry lips sucking marks into the skin. When he tries to climb into Sam’s lap, Sam shoots out a hand to keep him off.

“Jesus, Dean, do you want me to crash?”

“Don’t care.” Dean’s words are slurred and Sam can feel him his thighs quiver against him. When he glances into his brother’s face, Dean’s eyes are glassy and unfocused and maybe this has gone too far already but Sam isn’t going to back out now. Dean would never let him live it down.

He knows Dean is enjoying this. Probably not in the direct sense because that’s the point of a punishment, but if he truly wanted out he would find a way to make Sam stop and release him. Hell, he could do it himself. It’s not like Sam holds any real power over him.

But for some reason Dean doesn’t want to find a way out and it’s the same reason he loves it when Sam fucks him. He needs to give up control once in awhile and he won’t let himself otherwise. They don’t address it but Dean knows that Sam knows. And Sam is always happy to take care of his big brother who so rarely lets him.

“You’re okay,” he says into the side of Dean’s head, his hand rubbing circles over Dean’s back. He briefly considers sneaking his hand into the back of Dean’s jeans to play with the toy, pushing it even farther in or circling it around, fucking him with it. They still have another hour of driving, though, and even Sam isn’t that cruel.

So instead he dips his chin and quickly kisses his brother, swallowing Dean’s gasped moan, before he swivels his eyes back to the road. There isn’t much around for him to crash into but he isn’t going to risk anything, especially with Dean being an immense distraction, all hands and mouth and wet breath against Sam’s skin.

“Sammy, I’m sorry,” Dean rasps. He apologized about a dozen times over the course of the last four hours although they both know Sam isn’t really angry with him. How can he ever be? It’s one of his many weaknesses when it comes to Dean.

He just says, “I know.”

Dean stays glued to his side throughout the remainder of the drive. He is mostly silent except for the occasional whimper and there’s no tension in his muscles. He is limp against Sam’s shoulder, face tucked into Sam’s neck and only his fingers curl and uncurl in Sam’s T-shirt. He grinds his groin against Sam’s hip periodically but Sam doubts it improves anything if the little whines it presses from Dean are any indication. The squirming stopped for the most part but Dean picks it up again on the last 30 miles or so where the road is particularly uneven.

Sam can feel him shudder in relief when they pull into the parking lot of the first motel Sam finds. His own legs are cramping a little by now and he is glad to stretch to his full height when he steps out onto the gravel. He rounds the hood to Dean’s side and hauls his brother out of the car.

Dean is so drenched with sweat Sam is briefly worried that he’ll get sick. He hopes that a hot shower later with be enough to stave that off.

“Sam, I…” Dean doesn’t finish, stumbles into Sam’s chest, winding his arms around Sam’s neck.

Sam kisses him properly for a minute because now he finally can before pulling back. He encircles Dean’s waist with one arm. “I’m gonna take care of you now, okay? Just have to get us a room fist.”

Dean doesn’t look like he is really listening but he nods, melting further into Sam.

It isn’t easy but Sam manages to get them across the parking lot and to the front desk without falling. Dean trips a couple of times and his legs shake so much, Sam is pretty much supporting all of his weight. There’s sweat pooling on Sam’s forehead and collarbone by now, too.

The man behind the reception desk eyes them suspiciously. Dean is too far gone to pay much attention to his surroundings so it’s on Sam to keep his brother from humping him in public.

“Is he okay?” the man asked, pointing to Dean. The hair around his temples is starting to gray and recede.

Sam smiles tightly. “He’s fine. A little sick. We’ll be fine.”

When the man nods unconvinced and asks for a credit card, Sam manages to dig it out of his back pocket without having to detach Dean from his side.

Dean keeps quiet during the whole transaction but as soon as they receive their key and stumble through into their room, he gets the jump on Sam and pushes him back against the door.

“If you don’t do something _right now_ , I swear to fucking god, I’ll shoot you.”

Threats like that are never effective, not coming from his big brother. And especially not when Dean’s voice is so shot to hell and his quick breaths make his words a lot less intimidating.

Sam smirks. “Your gun is still in the car, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t answer, just growls and attacks Sam’s mouth. Sam is actually surprised at the amount of strength Dean can still muster up. But he’s no match right now and Sam pries Dean’s hands off his shoulders, taking his brother into his arms.

“I said I’m gonna take care of you and I meant that. Are you gonna let me?”

Dean looks up at him and slowly nods. His eyes are nearly black, pupils rimmed by only a sliver of green, his hair sticking up in all kinds of places.  
He looks so sinfully wrecked that Sam can’t wait any longer. He is desperate to get out of his jeans, dick completely and painfully hard again. He pushes his hand into Dean’s briefs and wraps his hand around his cock and Dean lets out a sob, collapsing against Sam’s front.

Sam half-carries his brother to the bed and gently pushes him down on the mattress. He rids him of his wet T-shirt and pulls down his pants and underwear in one go. Dean’s erection is an angry shade of purple and Sam sympathetically licks over the head.

Dean arches off the bed, chasing Sam’s mouth and his hands fly into Sam’s hair, twisting tightly. Sam hisses at the pin pricks in his scalp but he doesn’t detangle himself from Dean’s grip, just smooths his hand over the flat of Dean’s stomach.

He takes the cock ring off and immediately clamps his thumb and index finger back around the base. Dean howls, pressing his hand against his own mouth.

Something twists in Sam. He crawls up on the bed until he is right next to Dean’s ear. “You’re not coming until I’m inside you. Not till I say you can. Okay?”

Dean moans brokenly and Sam knows he understands the message. He straightens up to strip and throws his clothes carelessly to the floor to mingle with Dean’s.

“Turn over for me, baby,” he says gently into Dean’s hip, nipping and kissing the pale skin there as he moves along. He doubts Dean registers Sam’s use of the nickname that never fails to make him mad because he thinks it’s belittling, but somehow soothes him at the same time because he finds it comforting when Sam says it. Sam doesn’t think it’s either but he likes saying it.

Dean stares at him, momentarily incomprehensive, but Sam waits patiently until Dean slowly, as if it causes him pain and maybe it does, rolls to his knees and weakly pushes up on his hands.  
A groan rips itself from Sam’s throat and he thinks he could probably come from the sight alone. Dean on his hands and knees, sweaty and trembling with arousal and need, ass pushed up high, vibrator still deeply embedded inside. He could make Dean fuck himself with the toy and listen to his pleas for Sam to let him come, could jerk himself off watching his big brother willing to just about do anything to be allowed some release.

But his own need to fuck Dean, to be inside of him and feel him clenching around his cock is already becoming too much and Sam grabs the base of the vibrator and slowly pulls it out, turns it off.

Dean drops his head between his shoulders and shakes. He is keeping his lips tightly locked, muffling all the sounds that are trying to escape.

Sam doesn’t lose any more time. He reaches for his clothes on the floor, grabbing the little tube of lube he kept in his back pocket during the drive, because he is nothing if not prepared, and slicks up his cock. Gripping Dean’s hips tightly enough to most likely leave marks, he pushes into his brother.  
He is quite a lot bigger than the toy but Dean’s muscle barely offers any resistance, Dean’s hips canting up to meet the intrusion.

They start out slow but soon Dean is pleading for _harder, faster, Jesus, Sam, please_ and he drops down to his elbows, muting his hoarse cries by pressing his face into the pillow. Sam’s thrusts are deep and so powerful that Dean’s knees skid over the blanket and his hands scramble for purchase on the sheets.

Sam wraps one arm around Dean’s waist and hauls him backwards into his lap. He bites at the skin below Dean’s ear and Dean’s moan is just a little too loud for the thin walls but Sam doesn’t care. “Wanna hear you.”

“God, Sam, I can’t —”

Sam doesn’t find out what Dean can’t because Dean chokes on the words when Sam snaps his hips and buries himself deep inside of Dean. The angle is better like this, Dean’s weight helping to take Sam deeper and every thrust rubs along his prostate. Sam can only imagine how sensitive it must be by now.

“I got you,” he soothes, kissing Dean’s shoulder. He finds Dean’s hand that is currently trying to take a chunk out of Sam’s thigh with how firm his grip is and entwines their fingers.

Dean drops his head against Sam’s and whimpers pitifully when Sam grinds his hips against Dean’s ass in circling motions, stretching him a little more. Dean clenches down on him and Sam nearly loses it.  
He grits his teeth, goes back to thrusting into Dean, short and fast strokes that have both of them panting.

“You wanna come, baby?” Sam breathes into the side of Dean’s face before pulling him into a kiss. The position is awkward and Dean’s back must hurt with how much he is twisting it but he immediately pushes his tongue in Sam’s mouth and kisses him back before he breaks away with a moan.

“Fuck, Sam, _yes_! I need…”

Sam slows down his thrusts, making them deeper and more precise instead of fast and frantic and Dean keens.

“What do you need?”

Dean makes an aborted movement that is somewhere between trying to get away and pushing back into the pressure Sam applies on Dean’s prostate with every time he pushes into him.

“I need to, need to come. Please, Sam…” His breath hitches and he hiccups and it would be funny if Sam’s brain wasn’t so fogged with arousal and he didn’t find anything Dean does ridiculously hot. “Need you to say it’s okay.”

Dean needing, wanting, begging for his permission to do something he could have done long ago but didn’t because Sam forbade it is enough to bring Sam right to the edge of orgasm. He wraps his hand around Dean’s cock and whispers, “It’s okay.”

Dean cries out and clamps down on Sam’s cock, pulsing around him. That’s when Sam lets go, too, keeping his arm tightly around Dean, face buried in Dean’s hair. Thick ropes of hot white pour over his hand and he spills himself inside his brother and they shudder through their release together.

Dean goes quiet and completely limp in Sam’s arm and Sam holds him, nuzzling his temple. He thinks it’s probably best to pull out now when Dean is still unconscious because it might be painful otherwise. He has to be extremely sore. Sam can’t really find it in him to be sorry.  
He maneuvers them until he can lie down and tuck Dean against his side.

Dean’s first words when he comes around are, “I blacked out.” His voice is barely recognizable.

Sam smiles at him. “You did.” And then adds, “Honestly, I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Humming in content exhaustion, Dean closes his eyes and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Not complaining. Just saying that’s hard to follow up.”

“I’ll find a way,” Sam promises, grinning. He winds both arms around his brother, pushes a leg between both of Dean’s. He pulls him closer and kisses him softly. Dean sleepily kisses back but soon his mouth falls slack.

Both of them are slick with sweat and sticky with come and in urgent need of a shower but Sam doesn’t think he can make himself move. And Dean probably couldn’t walk right now if his life depended on it. Sam smirks.

They should probably get their stuff from the car because they have nothing on them, not even the knives they usually carry since it is too hot outside to wear their jackets. Those are still on the backseat of the Impala.

Sam is already drifting off, though.

“And don’t call me ‘baby’,” Dean gripes as an afterthought, sounding half-asleep, “Or I’ll start calling you ‘buttercup’. In public.”

Sam snorts and casually tucks the blanket more snugly around them. He presses his nose into Dean’s hair, still chuckling, breathing in his scent. “You love it.”

Dean doesn’t answer.


End file.
